Yet Another Bobby and John Story
by Amanita Jackson
Summary: I think the pair is cute. If you don't fine. Don't read it. I had this sitting on my computer. Purely moviebased. The Epic [Overdone] Tale Of Pyro and Iceman. Enjoy.
1. Bobby

Ha, yes. I am alive, although my computer is not. So! Here is this monstrosity. I broke this epic thing into chapters...it's been sitting in a file for months and I haven't finished it, but I need to post something and this is pretty decent, if a bit cliche. It's my take on the whole Bobby and John thing. Enjoy.

**Warning:** Slash, language

* * *

Robert Drake was a good boy from Boston. He didn't drink or do drugs, he did his homework most of the time, he managed Bs and the odd A. Good ol' Bobby was on the football team throughout middle school, and he played soccer in the park during the summer. He was going to be heading back to Community Prep for his sophomore year of high school in four months, where he had some close friends who, like him, stayed mostly out of trouble. 

Oh, yes, and he had been hiding the fact that he could create and control ice for almost a year and a half. Bobby Drake was a mutant boy living in the Boston 'burbs.

It wasn't that bad in the winter. He'd always liked winter, and it sort of made sense now how he went year round wearing shorts and a t-shirt, even on the bitter, harsh February days when the wind was like nails of ice driving against exposed skin.

Everyone else assumed he did it to look tough, but this bothered him much less than the awful, oppressive _heat_. He snorted. You'd think that somewhere with such vicious winters wouldn't be so disgustingly humid in the summer.

Apart from the weather, there was nothing to betray his secret. Being from a good family in a good neighbourhood, he experienced relatively little stress. Oh, there were times when he had exams and big games and the normal teenage troubles, but nothing that activated his powers too much.

For the exams, he'd carve some notes in blocks of ice to relieve the pressure and keep the 'problem' under control. For the big games, he'd station himself near the ice cooler, volunteering to fill it up, administer ice while he was on the sidelines, and so on. It helped that he'd wanted to be a doctor when he grew up. It was just put down as an aspiring med-kid logging some hands-on practice.

For the teenage troubles, he'd make hundreds of little effigies from ice. He'd sit on the roof and throw them down at the ground. Sometimes he made hearts with names on them. Sometimes he'd fix them after they shattered on the driveway pavement. Sometimes he'd leave them to melt. He knew it was stupid, pathetic, cliché, but what displacement activities of Bobby Drake's weren't? His whims were fluid, one of the few aspects of him that was.

But the girl. The damn girl was going to end up destroying his illusion of normality. The little tart kept going after him. Bobby did _not_ like her. He liked her intentions less, and her massive, hulking, jealous quarterback boyfriend least of all. Bobby had tried as hard as he could to avoid her, the whining, simpering wretch. But she kept after him, even though he had told her very many times _NO_.

It had gotten to the point where he'd accidentally frozen the ink in his pen and it had exploded just because she'd walked by his class. He used pencils now. Exams were coming up in a few days and between the already mind-boggling stress of _them_ and that _girl's_ constant hounding he felt like he was inches away from icing his whole house over.

It was bad that it was summer, because he couldn't just go freeze a couple of sidewalks like he had when that incident happened over the winter.

It was good that it was summer because no one questioned the amount of ice in the soda bottle he was clenching. If it were hot chocolate with chunks of ice floating around in it, that might have caused some awkward questions.

He shoved his geometry book across his desk and stood, stretching. He couldn't take this. He had to go for a walk, clear his mind. But he _really_ didn't want to leave the comfort of central air.

Bobby had a moment of indecision as his cabin fever warred with the prim little icy voice that Bobby had been thinking with sometimes since he'd gotten his powers that was vehemently insisting that Bobby's entire body would really _truly_ prefer to stay _in_side in the _cool_, thank you.

The little voice lost, a rarer and rarer occasion these days. Bobby went outside. It was only six-thirty in the evening. He yelled to his mom that he'd be going for a walk, would be back in a bit. She shouted back to be home in time for dinner in an hour.

Ronnie the exam-less seventh-grade jerk was playing some racing game on the Gamecube when Bobby came past the living room.

Ronnie looked up from the gullies of some rocky planet and waved cheerfully at his older brother, snickering.

"Lucky bastard," Bobby muttered as he slammed the screen door.

On his walk, he encountered _her _in the middle of the park. A nice African-American lady with white hair and a pleasant smile was out jogging near the teens.

One thing lead to another and he wound up with flying colours in his exams and a partial scholarship offer from Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.

The school's founder and headmaster, Xavier, sent a letter requesting that Bobby come over the summer so he could do some catch-up work and get used to the boarding school before the school year went underway. His parents, thrilled that Bobby had gotten such a fabulous opportunity, agreed.

Bobby was waiting by the window in his room, drawing patterns on the glass with an icy brush of a finger. His suitcase was packed and on the bed, his room was tidied and the bed itself made (for once). He waited for the teacher to come pick him up. Her name was supposed to be Ms. Monroe. Or something. When he saw a car pull into the driveway, he grabbed his suitcase and bolted down the stairs.

"Excited?" his mother teased, smiling fondly. She ruffled his hair. He started to shrug her off, but thought better of it and let her envelope him in a massive maternal hug. His dad had just smiled, proud of his elder son. While his parents were fussing over Bobby, Ronnie stood behind them and smirked. Then he flipped his older brother off. Bobby returned the affectionate gesture.

The woman in the chair cleared her throat and adjusted her glasses pointedly, but not unkindly. She stood, putting her hand on Bobby's shoulder.

"If you'll excuse us, I ought to take Bobby to the campus. It's quite a drive," she said cheerfully.

"Of course, Dr. Grey," his mother agreed, eyes shining. Dr. Grey let Bobby finish his goodbyes, then shook hands with his parents and left the school's contact information. "Ready Bobby?" she queried, smiling. "Let's go."

She led him to the car and put his suitcase in the trunk. He watched the house till it was out of sight.

Inside, his mother kept her eyes trained on the car until it turned the corner. Bobby's father, who was looking over the contact information, made a small noise of confusion.

"What is it, honey?" asked Mrs. Drake.

"Well, it's nothing. Just that they forgot to put down the address, is all," replied Mr. Drake. Both parents shrugged it off and Mrs. Drake collected Ronnie for a visit to his friend's house.

In the car, Bobby was just getting over his awe of the woman next to him.

"Where are we going?" Bobby inquired meekly. Dr. Grey smiled at him, though not in a condescending way.

"We're going to a special school, Bobby. There are people there with powers like you and me. Well, not exactly like you and me, but it's a place where mutants can be safe."

Bobby winced at the word 'mutant'. Dr. Grey hadn't looked at him at all while she had been driving, but she noticed. Somehow.

"Do you not like the word 'mutant'? It's nothing to be ashamed of, Bobby. It's not an insult. It's a fair description of what we are. We have powers. Gifts. It's absolutely nothing to be scared or ashamed of. We are still human beings. We just have a few special extras. Now, you'll be going into what some of the students call Mutant High…"

'_Mutant High'._ Bobby thought as Dr. Grey's voice washed over him. _That's…new._


	2. John

Chapter two. Lovely.

* * *

John was one of the runaways. Exactly how he had come to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters was known to John and Xavier alone. Ever since he had arrived there in middle school, John just glared until people stopped asking. Xavier stated firmly that if John did not wish to tell how he had come to the school or what had happened before, it was not Xavier's place to tell the inquirer.

You sometimes find the professor's almost obsessive opinions on free will and choice _incredibly _irritating. So you turn elsewhere for information on your absent roommate. There are a few kids at the school, but most are on some huge camping trip that Ms. Monroe is chaperoning along with some of the other teachers. Other than Dr. Grey, Xavier, and a scant few kids whose powers or temperaments don't agree with camping, the place is pretty much deserted.

Dr. Grey had informed you on the car ride that you were actually right on par with your classmates. However, it would be safer and easier for you to stay at a place more mutant-friendly before you had another run-in with the girl.

With nothing but time to kill, you've been dividing your time between reading, playing video games and finding out as much as you can about your roommate. There's still another week before the majority of the student body gets back from the camping trip.

On this particular morning, you shuffle sleepily into the rec room to find several younger children locked in fierce combat over whose turn it was to play winner in a melee-type tournament on whatever console they were fiddling with.

You sigh. The Library's being patched up after a small disturbance the other day, and you don't really feel like beating up a couple of twerps just to play some games for an hour or two.

_Looks like I'll actually have to concentrate on finding stuff out about John. But first, breakfast._

When you've polished off a pint and a half of vanilla ice cream (one of the many advantages to living at Xavier's…) you seek out information.

"Nice pyjamas, Bobby," comments Xavier mildly. "You wanted to know about John? Well, coming to me is taking the easy way, my boy. You'll have to do a bit more legwork. It will be even more satisfying to get information if you have to work for it."

You haven't even had a word come out of your mouth yet. You scowl, turn and trudge sulkily to the door.

"Incidentally, the young ones usually lose interest in any one activity in a few hours or so. The console should be free by lunchtime," Xavier adds as you shut the door.

Now, it's lunchtime. Losing yourself in a stolen peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich and some random RPG with swords and grenades and 'helpful' purple pixies, you go over what you'd heard about this John guy.

From Dr. Grey and another teacher who had stopped by for a few hours this morning, you had learned that John was about your height with short blond hair. John was fairly good at his studies and while sarcastic could be charming if he was in the right mood. Like, say, in the mood for avoiding detention and extra chores. John was a bit of a hothead, which was appropriate because he could control--but not conjure--fire.

From the smattering of younger kids, you had learned that John was nice enough but got mad real easy if you tried nicking his stuff or playing a trick on him. John liked s'mores which was why he went camping, but he doesn't like sleeping outside so he's prolly been complaining the whole time. John stayed inside and complained all winter, but he stayed outside until dark during the summer, especially on really hot days and he loved it. His power was fire, did you know that?

From the handful of older kids, you had learned that John could be a bit too much of a smartass sometimes, but usually he was okay. He could be stubborn and aggressive but he was mostly agreeable and as long as you didn't look for a fight he didn't give you one.

He was a bit territorial and a hell of a kisser, but he was definitely an on-and-off kind of guy. He'd never been into the long-term thing. Watch out, though, because John likes to play with the new kids--oh, not everyone new, just the older ones. He's nice enough to the little kids and plays with them sometimes, but he _plays_ with the new kids our age. He doesn't get serious so keep that in mind, but if you play along he's hella fun anyway.

"Your power's ice?" asks one of the other high schoolers, incredulous. "Woah, dude. I knew that Xavier works some really freaky things but this is just insane. You, ice boy the cute new kid, are getting put in a room with _fire _boy_ John_? I mean, he's a nice guy and all but you gotta watch out for him when he's in a mood. Go see Xavier, see if you can switch or something," suggests the other teen.

"Well," Xavier says thoughtfully just as you open the door. "I do have my reasons for putting you in a room with John. I am not going to let you change rooms before you've even met the boy. If, however, you still have qualms about John after you have become accustomed to him, then you may move. Give him a chance."

You glare. "You know,--"

"Yes, I know it annoys you when I use my powers to answer your questions and address your concerns before you even speak," Xavier interrupts with a chuckle. "But continue. I will stop."

"Thank you," you reply, a touch more irritably than you might otherwise. "But…" you squirmed slightly, uncomfortable. "Um, I was asking around, and I was talking to some of the older kids about John, and one of the guys said that…um, that John was…um…a…good kisser…" you mumble, face red.

Xavier chuckles again and waves his hand dismissively. "Don't worry, my boy! Most mutants are attracted to both sexes. It seems to arrive hand-in-hand with our gifts. My pet theory is that mutants, whatever else they may be, are also governed by nature. Powers that don't combine well or combine dangerously almost always crop up in the same sex. Powers that do combine well are found in opposing sexes. Thus is the matter of procreation between mutants made simpler."

You squirm some more. It was kinda creepy and just _gross_ hearing someone this old talk about that stuff.

"Yes, well, I felt you ought to know. Now that you're going to be living among hundreds of other mutants, this shouldn't have to come as a surprise. All mutants have the potential to be attracted to all other mutants. We are attracted by powers, repulsed by personalities."

You sigh loudly, hoping he'll take the hint. It is REALLY starting to annoy you, the way he picks up on things when you want to say them out loud to help yourself puzzle things out. Even more irritating is how he makes you say the things you'd rather not. You frequently accused your mom of selective hearing but this selective telepathy is grating on your nerves something fierce.

And meanwhile, Xavier is _still_ talking.

"Powers even determine what sex you are, you know. They somehow know what you ought to be when you enter adolescence. All of the powers are keyed into all of the other powers, so there are no mistakes, no duplicates. They seem to know each other before the bodies they reside in do--! Ah, if I could only find the words to explain the great complexity that is the powers of an entire planet of mutants interacting…" Xavier gets a faraway gleaming look in his eyes, like he's looking at this great big wonderful world that only he can see.

Maybe he is.

You stop squirming to glare once more at the elderly man on the other side of the desk. "Will you stop that?" you demand.

"Yes, yes, very well. I just wish you to get accustomed to the fact that the rest of us have gifts as well. Robert, you are not alone here. Incidentally, John elected to move out of his last room because his roommate projected his dreams." Xavier smiles. "I'm afraid he hasn't much control over this, so both he and John have a room to themselves. Or, John did until you came along."

You aren't entirely sure why the man had chosen to tell you this but, doubts assuaged, you thank Xavier and go downstairs to take advantage of the abandoned video game and puzzle out what everyone had told you.

Xavier smiles to himself mischievously as he picks up your mental shouts of 'DIE! DIE, YOU BASTARD SCUM, DIE!' as you take out your confusion on assorted collections of pixels on the screen.


	3. Bobby and John Actually Meet

John was impatient. He loathed camping with a passion, but the bonfires were too much fun to yield to the discomfort of hordes of massive mosquitoes, drippy tents, itchy sleeping bags, loud snoring, horrific guitar playing from Scott, and--

Screw that. He was _so_ not going back on that stupid trip next year.

Probably, anyway. He'd have to see about getting another bonfire going, maybe closer to the school where there was no nature. John didn't like nature. He accepted that it was out there but as far as he was concerned, he left nature alone and nature ought to leave him alone as well.

Ah well. At least he had gotten to share a tent with Piotr.

John peeled off from the thinning stream of students and opened the door to his room, as many others were doing. All he wanted to do was dump his grimy stuff in the laundry chute and take a very hot shower. Funnily enough, John actually like swimming and showers and stuff, preferably with hot water. He grinned, absentmindedly thinking about what an oxymoron it was as he strode into his room.

He shut the door and turned, dumping his dirty stuff next to his bed. Hell. It could wait until after his shower. He needed to get a week's worth of dirt off of his skin. John hated being dirty, but his room went months at a time without being cleaned. He grinned again as he pulled his shirt over his head.

There was a discreet cough.

John dropped his shirt in surprise and twisted towards the source of the noise. There was some guy in his room.

"Um, hi?" hazarded the stranger, gripping his open book like a shield. He was sitting cross-legged on the spare bed. His eyes searched John's face as he waited for a reply.

_I am so going to…um…goddamnit. Have another temper tantrum? That worked last time with the old man, but I don't think I should be pushing my luck so soon after the s'mores thing…damn, I hope Scott doesn't report that one…_John thought, momentarily forgetting the blue-eyed problem sitting in front of him.

"You're John, right…?" the other boy asked cautiously, snapping John out of his reverie.

"What the hell are you doing in my room?" John demanded suspiciously.

"Um, yeah, I'm kinda your new roommate. Sorry." He shrugged apologetically. "Hector says this is Xavier's idea of a joke. Oh, yeah, I'm Bobby," he added and stuck out his hand.

John blinked. He hesitated, then reached out and shook Bobby's hand tentatively, as if it might explode without warning. _A joke…? Whatever. The guy _seems_ alright,_ John figured. _Hell. I'll be nice. He looks fun._

"Aaand you already know my name," John replied, nonchalantly flicking his lighter. He held it open and picked up the flame, twirling around his fingers expertly. He glanced back at Bobby, who was still clutching his book. "So, blue-eyes, what can you do?"

Bobby focused on the fire dancing around John's fingers. He held out his own finger, pointing at John's. A spray of ice engulfed John's whole hand, freezing the fire in its intricate curls.

John's eyes widened and he clicked his lighter again, rushing to melt his hand.

Bobby had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Sorry," he mumbled, flushing. "I…I can't really control it that well yet, y'know. I only got it a few years ago."

"Damn! So did I, but I don't go around blasting people's hands off!" retorted John indignantly. He wiped his wet hand on his jeans. "So." He looked over at Bobby. "Xavier's idea of a joke. I think I get it now."

After they'd gotten things sorted out between them, the two developed a strange sort of friendship. Maybe they complimented each other. Maybe opposites actually _do_ attract. Whatever it was, John liked it.


	4. A Bit of a Complication

Mm. 2nd person POV. Bobby. Don't shoot me; I like this style. If you all utterly, totally hate it the next chapter will be back to 3rd person and I'll switch this to 3rd person, ok?

* * *

In history, John would fool around with his lighter behind his back and you, always sitting behind him, would freeze it when John made a shape you particularly liked. John would grab it before it hit the floor and melt it. Then he'd start the game again. You're beginning to find it rather hard to concentrate, sitting behind John all the time. It's so very, very _distracting_.

Some nights, John would leave for a while, very quietly. But you had always been a light sleeper and you decide not to go back to sleep this time. After all, you can't be expected to sleep in this disgusting heat, can you? And John _insists_ on having the window open…

You take out a flashlight and read, trying to cool yourself off. Two hours and a hundred and twenty seven pages later, you hear sounds outside the door. You hurriedly click the flashlight off and scoot down under the thin sheet. You always sleep with just a sheet, if anything at all. John always sleeps with two thick comforters, no matter what the weather.

You sulk silently. You _hate_ summer. It's been a year since you've come to Mutant High and the summers here are just as bad as they were back in Boston.

John slips in oh so quietly, only to have his arm tugged by the other person outside. John laughs, then catches himself, but he doesn't need to because the other person--you can't see who it is in the dark, but they're silhouetted in the doorway and it looks like a guy--puts their mouth over his and all you can hear are soft moans. You want to turn over but at the same time you don't really want to because strange as it is, it's actually kinda hot watching your best friend make out with some random guy. In fact…

You wince, knowing how screwed up that sounds, even in your head. You really, _really_ hope Xavier isn't in the habit of staying up late. Because that would be more than a bit awkward. Because you're actually feeling left out and turned on and more than a little jealous.

The other one finally leaves and you see a flash of brown hair as he crosses the patch of moonlight. Ooh, wow. A brunette. Gee, that narrows things down.

John's turned and you can see his face now, but it's hazy and shadowed like the rest of the room. He wipes his mouth and you feel rather smug. Which you probably shouldn't. Right now, you really don't care.

John takes his lighter out of his pocket and starts playing with it, sitting down on the bed.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

You make a face in annoyance and turn over, hoping it looks natural.

It doesn't. You've never been a terribly good actor.

"Still up, Bobby?" John asks, not looking up from his lighter. Click. Click. Click.

"Yeah. You too, obviously," you reply.

"So," he begins, grabbing the fire and playing with it, looping it through his fingers and making patterns with it. He glances up at you. "What's your excuse?"

You grin wryly. "You woke me up." _In the middle of a pretty good dream, too._

His face shows an apologetic grin, lit by the flames wreathing his fingers. He shifts uncomfortably.

"Sorry, man. Didn't mean to be so loud." He looks slightly worried that they were making noise enough to wake you up. You shake your head.

"Nah, you woke me up when you left. Couldn't get back to sleep, so I just decided to read till you got back," you assure him.

"What…? Why'd you wait up for me?" he asks, tilting his head. Oops.

"Who said I was waiting up? I was reading and then you got back. I wasn't waiting or anything."

"Yeah, that might be true," he concedes, "but if it is, how come you were pretending to be asleep when I came in?" _Pff. He makes it sound like he was just out for a midnight snack or something, rather than--_

_Ooh, I wish I hadn't thought that._

Trying not to think about _that_, you say the first thing that comes to mind.

"I didn't want you to think I was waiting for you." Damn, damn, damn. _How lame was that?_

"Right," he agrees, clearly unconvinced. He clenches his hand and the fire goes out. He strips down to his boxers and climbs under the covers.

There is a moment of silence.

"Bobby. You awake?" he calls softly.

"No," you whisper back.

"Smartass. How much did you see?"

"What?" You feign innocence. _Like I don't know what he's talking about…_

"You know what I mean. When I was--"

"With that guy? Um, everything after he caught your arm." You thank the Lord for small blessings because the summer night is doing an absolutely stellar job of hiding your blush. Among other things.

"And…?"

"What else was there to see?" _Well, you, obviously, but like hell I'm saying that._

"I dunno, depends on what you saw," he tosses back casually.

"You wiped your mouth and started playing with your lighter. I hardly think that's what you meant."

"You did see, then."

"Yeah…" you let your voice trail off, feeling like he's just sent you signal but at a loss as to what the signal was or what it might mean.

There is more silence.

"Bobby?" He sounds thoughtful.

"Yeah?" _What _now

"You sounded jealous."

_DAMN._ "What, of you? John, I couldn't even see who you were with."

"I see. What I meant was, were you jealous of him?"

"No. Why would I be?" you counter.

"Somehow you don't sound so convincing," he comments airily.

"John, why would you--"

"Hector said something to me," he tells you flatly.

You groan and vow to kill Hector if you don't die from embarrassment first.

You're so busy coming up with painful ways for Hector to suffer torturously that you don't realise John's gotten out of bed and snuck over to yours until you hear the springs complain as he sits down on the foot of your single .

_Shit._ "John, what are you doing?"

He shrugs and crawls a bit closer to you.

"You're on my leg," you sulk. He sticks his tongue out. You do the same. He reaches out and shoves you.

Well, what else can you do? You sit up and shove him back, and one thing leads to another and pretty soon you find yourself in the middle of one of the wrestling tussles you two often have.

Then he has you pinned, because you've been paying attention to him and not what he's doing and now his face is so close and his hand's on your chest and the other one's cupping your cheek and he's leaning down…

You come to your senses just enough to shove him off the bed. He can't be doing this. Not to _you_. You want more than a quick hook-up and a grope in the dark. Not to say you wouldn't jump at the chance of even that, but you have to hope there's more. John's just playing with you.

"Stop playing with me," you say softly, drawing the sheet around your shoulders like a blankie from when you were young. He sits up, confused but still grinning. He hasn't heard you, which you suppose is just as well.

"You don't want to?" he asks, a mock pout on his face.

"I…" You know you ought to deny it, but maybe you shouldn't? Should you? But…

"Okay," he says, interrupting your train of thought. "It's okay. I'm going to sleep. See you tomorrow."

In a few minutes, he's asleep and it's like none of this ever happened. You sigh and let yourself drop onto the pillow and watch him until you fall asleep, half-hoping he doesn't try anything tomorrow and half-hoping that he does.


End file.
